Poetic Injustice
by mossley
Summary: Updated 2604 to correct numerous typos. Cautionary tale why Grissom should stick to
1. Things not to say on a card

**Poetic Injustice  
Summary:** A bit of fluff, and bit of romance. A cautionary tale why Grissom should stick to "From Grissom" as his sentiment. G/S.  
**A/N:** Updated 2/6/2004 to correct numerous typos and glaring mistakes. Contains general spoilers for the end of season three and Unfriendly Skies. Many thanks to Burked for beta-ing this version.  
**Rated:** PG-13 for mild language.  
**Disclaimer:** Trust me, no one would allow me to actually control what these characters do in real life.

* * *

**Chapter 1 **

"Hey, Grissom, you didn't pull a 'ghost' on us after all! Glad to have you back, man!"

Gil Grissom turned when he heard Warrick's greeting coming from the hallway. After a three-week 'vacation', the night shift supervisor was glad to be back in the one place that seemed more like home than his townhouse.

"Thanks, Warrick. Think Catherine'll give me my job back?" Both men chuckled as they entered the break room.

"Enjoy your vacation, Grissom?"

He turned to look at Sara, who was sitting in a chair, intently reviewing a file. What should have been a simple, polite question held a hint of a challenge in it.

Grissom shrugged it off; it wasn't like Catherine would have told any one where he'd been the last three weeks.

"Yes," and a gentle smile were his only answers to her. He turned around before he could see her eyebrows rise slightly.

"So, what did you do?"

"Nothing special, Sara. Caught up on some reading, watched some baseball," he said guiltily. It wasn't as if he was lying to her. Technically, at least. He really had done those things; he just failed to add, "recovered from surgery to correct my hearing" to the list.

"So, did you catch the Dodger's game against the Giants?"

Catherine nearly spilled her coffee when she swung around to stare at her colleague. _Sara watched baseball? Since when?_

"Yeah, good game, wasn't it?"

"Sure, but what was with that announcer?" Sara eventually looked up when he didn't respond, her eyes holding a definite challenge. "You know, the way he kept mispronouncing Cesar Izturis' name. How did he say it?"

Nick and Warrick moved to help Catherine, who had started choking on her coffee.

Grissom swallowed nervously. "I, uh, don't know Sara. I don't remember that happening," he said. Again, technically not a lie – you couldn't remember something you couldn't have heard in the first place.

"Really? I thought it was pretty distracting myself," said Sara with a smile. Images of sharks swam in Grissom's mind.

"Hey, some of us came here to work!" Catherine exclaimed loudly, wiping coffee off of her blazer. Sara turned to give her a brief glance, turned back to Grissom, then back to her file.

Flashing Catherine a quick 'Thank you' look, he began handing out that night's assignments. For the past few days he had savored the thought of pairing up again with Sara. Suddenly, the idea didn't seem as appealing.

"Sara, you get a string of break-ins along Las Vegas Boulevard. Be sure to stay with the police escorts. There's been a lot of trouble around there lately," he said, concerned despite his unease. "Warrick, smash and grab at a pawn shop; Nick, your favorite – trick roll. Catherine and I have a DB at a frat."

Sara waited until Nick and Warrick left the room before setting down her file and grabbing the assignment sheet her boss left on the table for her. When Grissom and Catherine turned to walk towards the door, Sara spoke in very soft, low tones. "You've got a huge rip in your pants, Grissom."

When he frantically reached around, feeling for the nonexistent hole, she got up and said, "I see the surgery was a success. Good." Catherine turned to her friend, shaking her head at his unasked question. Walking towards the hallway, Sara paused and turned around, giving him a hard look. "You know, Grissom, there are a lot of ways that I could describe what an ass you are, but 'good liar' isn't one on them."

He leaned against the doorframe and watched her walk down the hallway. Sara – the ultimate professional – had sworn at her supervisor at work. He should have known lying to Sara was a dangerous game. He'd been caught and now had to deal with her anger.

A quick flash of light caught his attention. He raised a quizzical eyebrow as Catherine put her digital camera away.

"Technicality," she shrugged. "But they like recent photos. You know, for the press."

"What?"

"Missing Persons. When they run your photo. 'CSI goes missing' Technicality, in your case. 'Cause you know they're never going to find your body after Sara kills you."

Sighing, Grissom herded Catherine into the parking lot. "Sara's a professional, Catherine. She'll make it look like an accident," he said darkly. "And don't laugh – she knows you're an accomplice."

"Yeah, but I'm a single mom. I'll get mercy. She won't kill me outright," she laughed nervously. She wasn't worried what Sara would do to her, but Catherine wondered if something irreplaceable had just walked out of her friend's life.

Unseen to either, a very confused Archie stuck his head out of his lab. Grissom was back for less than an hour and Sara was going to kill him – and Catherine – already? That was a record even for him.

He crossed into the DNA lab and turned down Greg's music. It wasn't often the lab rats got a chance to do some investigating.

* * *

Several hours later, Grissom sat at his desk, watching his tarantula carelessly walk over his hands. He decided life as a spider would be much simpler. After mating, the female spider would devour the male. Of course, the male only got to enjoy her company once, but he'd never have to worry about her temper, or eating preferences, or insulting her. And he would get to enjoy her company that one time.

Sara still wasn't back. There were a number of scenes to process, though, and Grissom knew Brass wouldn't leave her at a dangerous site alone. Between lingering guilt over Holly's death and Sara's recent brush with carelessness, Brass was treating her with an overprotective streak.

Sighing, Grissom wondered how long it would take before one of them exploded. Sara wouldn't take Brass' heavy-handedness for long, and he doubted the police captain would tolerate another outburst from her. He'd have to talk to each of them – alone – and try to defuse the situation. Well, maybe he'd get Catherine to talk to Sara. Any explosion with Brass would be mild to the one she was probably planning for him. He tried not to think about the fact Sara would have the knowledge to actually build a bomb.

A page from the morgue – maybe Doc would have some good news for him.

* * *

"Gil, do you have any allergies I should know about?"

"No, not really. Why?" Grissom asked warily as he approached Dr. Robbins.

"So, I can rule out anaphylactic shock when they bring you in. Good, that'll narrow down the causes of accidental death," he said with a grin.

"Do I even want to know how you heard? I know Catherine hasn't been down here yet," he asked.

"David. Heard it from Nick, who heard from Jacqui, who heard from Bobby. Don't know the rest of the chain yet," the bearded doctor replied. Grissom was amazed that a man who rarely left the cold confines of the morgue stayed so well abreast of the office gossip. "What did you do?"

"I lied," Grissom said, simply. "She had figured out about the surgery, and I didn't know it. She tried to catch me by asking what I did on 'vacation', and I lied."

"That was stupid."

"I know. Now tell me something about our young friend, here, Doc," Grissom pointed to the college student on the slab.

"That's an easy one. Dihydrogen monoxide poisoning."

"He drank enough water to kill himself? Drugs?"

"Still waiting on the tox screen, but it looks that way. Damage to the nasal cavities is consistent with long-term cocaine use. Didn't you say he was on the football team? Probably facing a urine test and tried to detox himself. Kid didn't know that water only dilutes drug traces, doesn't completely flush them. All he managed to do was lower his electrolyte levels to the point he went into heart failure. The folly of youth," the doctor said, turning to look at Grissom. "What's your excuse?"

Grissom snapped his head up at the doctor's question. He valued Al's friendship, but right now he didn't want to talk about this. Ignoring the doctor, Grissom left the morgue.

* * *

Sara still wasn't back. Glancing at his watch, Grissom decided to go and help. This was taking too long; he shouldn't have sent her out alone to cover so much. Checking with dispatch, he quickly drove to join her. In actuality, she'd made good time. This was the second to the last scene.

"Sara, find anything interesting?" Grissom called out cheerfully.

"No."

"Anything unusual?"

"Nope."

Grissom regarded her carefully. He had expected an angry Sara – why did he send her on such a mundane series of cases; why was he checking up on her – and could deal with that. The hotter Sara's wrath, the quicker it passed.

A cold Sara was new; he felt lost. She wasn't hostile. She regarded him calmly but without much attention, as if he wasn't worthy of anything more than polite consideration due a supervisor.

This wasn't good.

"We finished up our frat case," he said, flashing her a grin. "Water poisoning. Can you believe how stupid people can be?"

The look she gave him was all the answer he needed.

"What do you need me to do?" Sara looked at him in mild confusion. "This is your case, Sara. I'm just here to help."

"You can take the evidence down to the Tahoe," she said.

"Sure thing. You about done here?"

"Just need to pack up my case," she said, throwing the last items back into their padded places. "Let's go to the last scene. It's just down the street."

Grissom lugged the collection of evidence bags to the vehicle – Sara coolly refrained when he offered to carry her kit as well – and placed them in the back of the SUV. Waiting until he was done, Sara started down the street, with Grissom following.

"So, when did I screw up?" he asked flippantly. The one good thing about Sara's temper was, while intense, it was short-lived when directed at her friends. His smile wavered at her look. He used to admire the information she could convey in one of her looks. Now it was making him nervous. "Err, how did you find out about the surgery?"

"Karen."

"Karen? Who's Karen?"

"HR specialist."

"Okay, I'm lost here, Sara," he said, trying another smile. Damn, those looks were spooky.

"I went to Human Resources to change my insurance carrier. Karen's under the impression we're friends. While I was there, she asked me how you were doing. I didn't know what she was talking about, but I saw your file on her desk," Sara said. "That's the last scene," she pointed her case diagonally across the street to a run-down apartment building.

Grissom stared at her. "I can read upside down, remember? I saw Dr. Roth's name, she's listed in the phone book. And I remembered that you knew sign language, that incident on the witness stand. Everyone's noticed you had been toning people out, they just assumed you were being more of yourself than usual. Pretty easy to put together. Let's go," she said crossing the street.

'She's under the impression we're friends.' At first, Grissom thought Sara meant the HR specialist and herself. Her coolness was making him question that assessment. Just how mad was she?

"I didn't know if it would work. If not, I'd have lost everything. That scared me. It wasn't something I wanted to share," he said, hoping Sara would understand the importance of this admission. "It wasn't something I could talk about."

"That's all you would have had to have said, Grissom."

Watching her cross under the yellow police tape, Grissom closed his eyes briefly. Taking a deep breath he turned to the one constant in his life – work.

* * *

Grissom frowned. Whoever was responsible for this crime spree was good. So far, not a single print had been found. Not only had the guy appeared to have worn gloves, but he wiped the door handles and frames down. Someone that careful would be harder to catch.

Looking out the corner of his eye, he watched Sara try to lift shoe prints. So far, she'd had only limited success. The carpet was in poor condition and dirty, and there was a lot of traffic through here. She was persistent, though.

He sighed softly. Of all the people on his team, he should have known Sara would have figured out the truth. And would have been the one hurt. She was right; if he had told her he was having a personal problem, but couldn't talk about it, she wouldn't have pushed. She was very understanding that way.

Lying to her – that was another story. Sara was probably the most ethical person he knew. It meant you could trust her completely, whether professionally or personally. But if you wanted to be counted among her friends, she expected the same in return. Now she probably didn't know if she could trust him. 'Little lie, big lie' – how many times had that been a key to their investigations?

Maybe she just needed some time to forgive him; maybe he just needed some time to figure out how to handle this. An unwelcome snippet of conversation replayed in his mind. He couldn't wait until it was too late.

The sound of laughter caught his attention. One of the detectives – what was that new kid's name? – must have made a joke. Sara was flashing him her trademark grin. Gathering the scant evidence their perp had left at this scene, Grissom headed towards the stairwell. He needed to get out of here before he said something he'd regret.

"I'll take the evidence to the lab. Take your time," he said. "I'll be working." _Wait, did that come out right?_

"Grissom!"

He barely had time to register the emotional intensity behind Sara's yell and to recognize running footsteps before the pain and darkness overcame him.

* * *

Grissom awoke with a headache. A bad headache. _What had happened?_ His thoughts were a jumble. _Sara was furious at him_. That thought was foremost in his thoughts. _Then what? She was yelling at me, and she had her hands around my throat? What did I do?_

Groaning slightly, he tried to see what was around him. A warm hand gently squeezed his. "Gil, hon, we have to stop meeting this way," Catherine said as she leaned over him, smiling sarcastically.

She'd said that same bad joke when he came around from surgery. He recognized the institutional setting surrounding him. Sara put him in the hospital? What was going on?

"What did I do this time? I can't believe I made Sara even madder," he finally said. "God, I really screwed this up, Catherine."

"Gil, what do you remember?" Catherine's tone was an odd mixture of humor and concern.

"Sara yelling at me, trying to kill me, I think," he said, trying to recall clearly, his tongue resting on his pursed lips. "She was definitely mad at me, Catherine. I remember that. She said we weren't friends, no she didn't actually say that, she implied it. Gave me a look. You know her looks? She's mad. I think I insulted her. Then she yelled, and then she was strangling me. I think. It's very confusing, actually. They haven't pressed charges have they?"

Despite her friend's melodramatic state of mind, Catherine burst out laughing.

"Relax! Sara's not that mad at you," she finally choked out.

"Catherine, you weren't there. She's beyond mad; I think she hates me," he said angrily. "Why do you think this is funny?"

"Well, maybe because she just about killed herself to save your neck. Literally," she chuckled. "Your crime scene? The cops startled a drug dealer on the floor above you. He bolted down the steps and slammed you into a wall. Knocked you out."

"Oh."

"Sara pulled a move that would make a dancer proud. Grabbed a hold of you to stop you from rolling down the steps. She held on to you until the ambulance came. Sara was yelling at you to wake up, Gil, and then not to move. Her hands were around your neck to immobilize your head."

"She's hurt?"

"Nah, just some bruises, and I think she pulled some muscles she didn't know she had. You, on the other hand, have a slight concussion and a broken ankle," she said, answering the question she knew was coming. "They're going to keep you for observation, then you can go home tomorrow. I'll come pick you up, okay? I'm not supposed to be in here now. Told the doctor I was collecting evidence. Relax, Gil. Seriously, I don't think this situation is beyond repair."

Grissom regarded Catherine carefully. Normally, he would have trusted her opinion since she was a much better judge of character than he was. But she hadn't been there.

"Put it this way, Gil: what do you have to lose? You can't make it any worse than you already think it is."

He grunted noncommittally. If Catherine really believed that, she didn't know him as well as she thought.

* * *

In actuality, Catherine did know him that well. She also understood better than he did the predicament he'd gotten himself into.

It never ceased to amaze Catherine that a man who could solve a crime from the most subtle of evidence could miss a personal clue that literally was screaming in his face.

And Sara could be either screaming or subtle. Oh, it was obvious to everyone that she cared for Grissom. And when she was angry, you didn't want to be in her way. But Sara held her pain in closely.

After the incident with Hank, it had taken four beers before Sara would wonder if she should tell his girlfriend the truth. It took another two beers before she referred to him as 'a jerk'. It took three more beers before she'd admit that she was going to be embarrassed when everyone found out the truth.

The man had used her and treated her like dirt, and a drunk Sara would only call him a jerk. For her to openly reveal her anger at Grissom at work worried Catherine. There was more going on than he had let her know.

But Catherine had also spoken with Brass, who had witnessed the exchange on the stairwell. He admitted to starting to laugh when he first arrived. Grissom, laying on the stairs, Sara with one leg wrapped around his, her other braced against the railing, her hands wrapped under his chin.

Any humorous comments disappeared the second recognition hit. Gil was unconscious; Sara was immobilizing his head; the detective was lying at the top of the stairs, desperately holding onto Grissom's shoulders.

Both Sara and the new kid had heard the distinctive sound of breaking bone before Grissom had begun his fall. He'd yet to regain consciousness. Sara had yelled, demanded, pleaded, cajoled and threatened Grissom into waking up. Despite her obvious pain and her own precarious position, she never relented until the paramedics arrived.

That she still cared was obvious.

Catherine would be the first to admit that both Sara and Gil were far ahead of her as far as intelligence went, and she wasn't modest about her smarts. But neither of those two were great in the social skills area. Neither were talkers.

As much as she would like to see them happy, she often wondered if they wouldn't be better off apart. After more than three years, their relationship was in worse shape than it had been. And they hadn't done any of the things that usually led to a relationship falling apart.

If left to their own devices, they'd never resolve this. Smiling at that thought, Catherine started a plan. She just had to make sure the guys were busy tomorrow morning.

* * *

Sara approached the door nervously. After a minute, she muttered softly to herself. She had to pull it together. She wasn't about to leave Las Vegas, and she had to work with the man. They needed to at least re-establish a working relationship. Pushing the door open, she planted a fake smile on her face.

"Hey, Grissom. Ready to go home?"

"Sara? I thought Catherine was coming," he said in obvious confusion.

"Something's up at the school, some type of mechanical problem. She had to go get Lindsey. I got stuck with taxi duty."

"Oh, umh, yeah, I'm ready," Grissom said. He was nervous; Sara was smiling. It wasn't a happy smile, but it didn't remind him of immediate death, either. "I understand you saved my neck, and, um, I..."

"Don't mention it," Sara said. Grissom got the impression it was an order, not an attempt to downplay her actions. "Got all your paperwork? Do you need to get any prescriptions filled? Okay, we'll stop by the drug store on the way to your place," she said. This was just a favor; she'd do it for anyone in the office. It wouldn't take more than a couple hours to get him home and settled, and she'd be done.

She helped Grissom maneuver into the mandatory wheelchair, handed him his crutches and paperwork and pushed him outside. Helping him into the SUV, she reached into the back and grabbed a pad of paper and pencil. Climbing into the driver's seat, she shoved them into his hands. "Make a shopping list. I'll run to the store for you."

"Sara, that isn't necessary."

"Grissom, when was the last time you tried to push a shopping cart on crutches? You'll just put yourself back in the hospital," she said, wincing when it came out harsher than intended. She sighed, "It's no trouble, and I can get it done faster than you can. Just don't argue, okay?"

"Sure," Grissom said. He didn't want to argue, but he didn't want Sara to feel she had to do this. He wondered if she blamed herself for what happened. He quietly made a list. He didn't need much, but he added a few extra items so she wouldn't think he was trying to avoid her help.

The remainder of the trip was made in silence. Grissom allowed Sara to help him out of the Tahoe. He finally spoke to tell her that he'd leave the front door open for her. He started to thank her, but she shrugged it off before he could finish.

While she was gone, Grissom tried to analyze the situation. He'd thought Sara was mad at him at first, but the evidence didn't support that hypothesis.

Mad Sara was a well-documented phenomenon. Grissom felt he knew it well enough to write another dissertation. It was loud, direct, emotional and hot, with occasional bursts of physicality. Current Sara was none of those things.

What did that leave? Had she gone past anger into hatred? Despite what Catherine had said, Grissom didn't place much on Sara saving his life. He was grateful, but he didn't consider it a sign of concern. Sara valued all life; she'd be the last person on the team who would allow another to get hurt.

She was here, helping him. Again, that was Sara's nature. With the possible exception of Hodges, she'd do the same for anyone else in the office.

This wasn't working. He didn't have enough information to gauge Sara's state of mind. He tried the contrapositive. If he couldn't figure out what he had, he'd try to figure out what was missing.

'_Their friendship_' headed the list, followed by _'Trust'_. '_Ease with which we worked_' came in third. '_Fun_', _'Teasing'_, _'Closeness'_ were added reluctantly. He remembered the way they had worked when Sara first came to Vegas. He missed that. He wanted it back. He wanted much more, but doubted that option would ever become available again.

Okay, now how to fix this. He'd call Catherine later. She'd be impressed that he made it this far. When his stomach began to grumble, Grissom decided on the first step of reconciliation.

* * *

Sara lifted the bags from the back of the Tahoe and slowly walked to Grissom's door. She wondered what kind of mood he was in. She hadn't meant to be so curt to him that morning, but she was still having trouble being around him.

Obviously, she'd misread her situation with Grissom. Once she thought they had been close. In reality, the shopping list he gave her earlier revealed more about him than anything he'd told her over the last few years.

They used to tease each other, with a definite attraction underlying their banter. Apparently, that's all Grissom had wanted, though. As soon as things showed any possibility of moving beyond that, he'd shut her out. She should have realized he didn't feel the same way she had.

Unfortunately, she had fallen in love with him, instead.

She didn't blame him; he never really gave her any reason to believe his feelings went deeper than a teasing friendship. It didn't make the situation any less embarrassing.

Now she didn't know how to react around him. It hurt that he hadn't confided to her about the hearing problems. Worse, he had lied to her. Once, she would have sworn that Grissom was the one person she could trust without a doubt. And trust wasn't something she gave easily.

She didn't regret moving to Las Vegas. To be hand-selected to join the number two lab in the country was both an ego boost and a professional gold mine. People knew the lab's record and Grissom's reputation, and she was known as his protégé. If she ever did decide to leave, she'd have no trouble finding another job.

The trouble was, Sara didn't want to leave. Vegas took some getting used to, but she found she did like it here. She had friends, and the work challenged her. She had to find a way to work with Grissom. Their friendship may have disappeared somewhere on the desert wind, but there was still a lot she could learn from him. She just had to find a balance.

She knocked softly before opening the door and calling "It's me." She was surprised to find him listening to a contemporary radio station rather than classical, and that he was in the kitchen, opening a selection of Chinese take-out.

"Good timing, Sara! The deliveryman just left a few minutes ago. Lunch is buffet-style," he said, taking his plate and hopping over to a seat. "It's all vegetarian."

Walking into the kitchen, she set her bags down and put the items that needed refrigeration away. This situation was odd, but then again, this was Grissom. Well, if he wanted to be friendly, she'd follow his lead.

The meal went quietly for the next several minutes. Grissom's enthusiastic grin when the DJ announced a special request caught her attention. "Sara, your boss is an odd one. 'Thanks for saving my neck!' signed, 'your idiot boss'," the voice called as the refrain to _One Way or Another_ began playing.

"Grissom! I can't believe you did that!"

"You wouldn't let me say it. Figured you couldn't scare a DJ into silence," he said, still grinning.

She gave him a mock-glare, then returned to staring at her plate. Maybe there was a chance of regaining some of their friendship, after all. Sara couldn't help but wonder if Grissom had ever bothered to really listen to the lyrics of this song. If he had, he wouldn't have requested it. Would he? This was just too weird.

They finished their meal with idle chatter. Sara filled him in on Greg's latest antics and the office gossip he had missed while he was out. Neither mentioned the surgery.

After lunch, Sara made Grissom relax on the couch while she put away the leftovers and threw away the disposable plates. She caught him squirming on the sofa and guessed he was having a difficult time finding a comfortable position. Between the broken ankle and bruises, she wasn't surprised.

"Grissom, you want me to grab some pillows?"

"Thanks," he said, nodding in the direction of his bedroom. When she was out of sight, he released a huge breath. So far this hadn't backfired on him. He still hadn't addressed the main cause of their rift, but they were talking and joking. Grissom was confident that at the very least he'd be able to restore part of their friendship. He wanted more, but wasn't going to think about that now.

Sara came back with the pillows and tossed one behind his back. She helped maneuver it into a comfortable position then moved to place the other pillow between his cast and the coffee table.

"Better?"

"Much, thanks," he said. She moved his glass of iced tea so he could reach it without moving from his comfortable position.

He smiled. This could be fun. Letting out a small, frustrated grunt, Grissom reached out towards the TV remote resting beside his cast and made grabbing motions with his hand. Rolling her eyes, Sara leaned over and moved the remote next to him on the couch.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were taking advantage of my friendly nature," she accused, with obvious amusement.

"Hey, it's the only way I can take advantage of you in my condition," he flirted.

_Oh, no. _

The look of anger that flashed in Sara's eyes was clear, but what followed wasn't. It looked like pain. She quickly crossed the room, grabbed her bag and headed towards the door.

"Sara?"

She paused, started to talk, then stopped. After a minute she took a deep breath and turned to face him.

"Look, Grissom, you may find the idea that your ex-student fell for you to be funny, but it's kinda painful on this end. I'm sorry. I crossed the line. You're not interested; I get it. I can deal with that. Then you pull this shit with your lines. Dammit, don't mock me! It's not funny, and I sure as hell won't hang around to take it," she said, heading towards the door.

"Call me if you need anything," came out as an afterthought.

Grissom groaned. Well, now he knew why she had been so upset. Humiliated Sara was a condition he could have gone the rest of his life without seeing, especially since he caused it. He wasn't mocking her.

He leaned back against the pillow, running his hands through his hair. Suddenly, Grissom jolted upright. What had she said? 'I won't hang around to take it'? Damn, would she leave? No, he couldn't allow that. At least not until he made sure he had apologized to her.

* * *

It was a much calmer Sara that entered the Las Vegas Crime Lab that evening. She hadn't meant to yell at Grissom. It wasn't his fault. He had just tried to return to their old banter. It was just too painful knowing he would never move beyond the teasing.

She couldn't hang around his townhouse any longer. If she did, she would have started crying, and that wasn't something Sara would allow. Things were difficult enough as it was. She didn't need him to start feeling guilty. Maybe some day she could joke with him again, but for now she needed to keep things professional.

Sara noticed Catherine leaning against the hallway wall. "Hey, thanks for picking up Grissom this morning, Sara. Everything go okay?"

"Why?" Sara glared at Catherine. Something was up.

"That came for you earlier," she said, pointing towards a large potted plant in the corner of the break room. "I figured he did something stupid. Again."

"You knew? About the other plant?"

"Yeah, I was there when he placed the order. Gil's a nice guy, Sara, but he's dense. And he really is upset that you're mad at him," she paused, holding up her hands when Sara started to talk. "Look, I'm not justifying what he did. I tried to warn him. He doesn't get that the way he treats people is crappy. He didn't handle this well, Sara, but it was really hard on him. And this thing, between you two now, this is really hard on him, too."

Sara watched her older colleague. She wasn't sure how to read Catherine. They didn't exactly meet the definition of 'friends'. But it was Catherine who had been first to come to her support after Hank. And apparently she had talked to Grissom about her.

"You know, Cath, the fact that he's talked about 'this thing between us'," Sara made quote marks in the air, "to you more than he has to me doesn't really make me feel better."

"You're joking!"

"No, Cath, I'm not. And there's no 'thing' between us," Sara said firmly.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that."

Giving Catherine an incredulous look, Sara snapped. "Really? Well, guess what? I offered. He wasn't interested. He was pretty blunt about it, too."

"You're joking!"

"You sound like a broken record, Catherine." Sara's tone clearly indicated she wasn't interested in continuing this conversation.

"When was this?" Catherine pressed ahead.

"Why, Cath?" Sara asked wearily.

"Because it doesn't jive with what I've seen."

"Right after you blew up the lab. I asked him out. He said no."

Catherine glared at Sara. Okay, she was pushing her, but did Sara have to rub it in?

"Let me get this straight. Right in the middle of seeing you hurt, then going on a testosterone rush, worrying if Greg would recover, wondering what I'd done to my career, pissed that 13 cases had been blown away, trying to work around a damaged lab, Cavallo giving him hell and facing the possibility of completely losing his hearing," Catherine counted each item out on her fingers, "Grissom didn't take time out for you. Yeah, what a jerk," she rolled her eyes.

"Look, Cath, stay out of this, okay? I don't know what I did to screw things up with Grissom. I thought there was something between us. It wasn't just that; things have been bad between us for a long time. I don't know what I did wrong," Sara took a deep breath to calm herself down. "If I can't get my act together around him, I'll have to leave. I won't compromise either of our careers over my mess. I don't want to do that. Just let it go, okay?"

Catherine stared at her. Sara had just revealed more information in the last minute than she had in the past three years. It was bad enough for her to leave?

"Hey, I'm sorry. I won't push. But he does care. I won't claim to know what's going on in that head of his, but trust me: he cares. I've known Gil a long time, and I probably know him better than anyone except his mother. He's only sent two plants in all that time," she said gently. "Don't sell yourself short."

Sara took a deep breath. This was weird. Half the time she thought Catherine didn't even like her. Then she'd turn out to be an emotional support Sara had never had before in her life. Catherine was right; she did know Grissom. Maybe he hadn't been mocking her. Then what had he been doing?

Letting out a small growl and shaking her head, Sara walked over to inspect the plant, a small smile forming as different possibilities played out in her mind.

Catherine chuckled lightly as she watched Sara's reaction. She looked up when she heard Nick's and Warrick's arguing as they approached the break room.

"That son of a bitch!"

At Sara's soft exclamation, Catherine whipped around and was in time to see Sara crumpling the card in her hands.

"Sara?"

"Shut up, Catherine."

"Okay." Even Catherine knew when not to push her.

"Hey, Sara! Nice plant! Got a secret admirer?" Nick teased.

"You like it so much, you keep it!"

Nick and Warrick quickly sat, keeping the table between them and Sara. It was going to be one of those nights.

* * *

"Grissom."

"Okay, Gil, I was wrong."

"Nice of you to admit your flaws, Catherine. Would you care to specify?"

"About you not being able to screw things up more. What the hell did you do?"

"You saw the plant? Did Sara like it?"

"Grissom, put it this way: I'd lock my doors if I were you. She was really upset when she came in. I thought I'd gotten her to calm down, but then she read that card. Whatever you wrote, it just really made her angry ... you still there?"

"Yeah, Catherine. Did she give you any idea what I did wrong this time? What part of my apology wasn't good enough?"

"Gil, you got yourself into this mess."

"Well, I'm getting tired of my apologies just making her angrier. Why should I even bother?"

"You keep asking yourself that. Maybe you can figure out the answer before she leaves for good."

Grissom stared at the phone after Catherine hung up. Sara was leaving? _Why? He'd been totally honest with her, and it made Sara angry. Why? _Well, there was only one person who would know that answer.

* * *

Grissom shifted again in the front seat of the Tahoe. It was still early morning and already it was getting uncomfortably warm in the SUV. He'd have to move inside soon, but he didn't want to explain to Sara's neighbors – or the police – why he had camped out in her hallway.

Shift would have ended a bit over an hour ago. Grissom had called Catherine and managed to convince her to encourage Sara to return home at a reasonable time. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Grissom gingerly moved out of the Tahoe and headed into the building.

Luckily, he didn't have to wait long. Sara paused when she saw him leaning against her apartment door. "Look, Sara, I won't stay long. I just need to talk to you for a minute. Please? Then I'll go away. Just let me talk to you for a minute, okay?"

"Sure. Come on in. Want something to drink?"

Grissom regarded her carefully. She was polite; that was more than he expected.

"Why are you mad with me?"

"I don't like being the butt of people's jokes."

"I've never done that."

"Bullshit."

"Sara, when did I ever ..."

"That damn card! That was so funny!" Her sarcastic tone wasn't lost on him. "I ask you to stop mocking me, and you send me that!"

Grissom was confused. "That wasn't a joke. Why do you think I was joking?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because grown adults don't send Dr. Seuss messages?"

"What?"

"Seuss, Grissom, Seuss. Wrote kid's books. Famous for his nonsense lines." He winced at her inflection on "nonsense".

Sara turned to look at him He was staring at her in complete confusion. "'I say what I mean and I mean what I say'. That's a direct quote from Seuss."

"It is?"

"Yes. Didn't you know that?"

"No. I was being honest."

"What?"

"I was being honest, Sara. I wasn't making fun of you."

"Oh."

An uncomfortable silence settled between them. Neither could look at the other.

"That's really from Dr. Seuss?" Grissom finally asked in an embarrassed tone.

"Yeah. 'I say what I mean and I mean what I say: I'm faithful and loyal 100 percent' – right out of _Norton Lays an Egg_," she said, noticing his raised eyebrows. "It was my favorite book as a kid. My brother must have read it to me a thousand times."

"Oh. Okay. Uh, Sara, I," he sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. Really, I am."

He wanted to say so much more, but wasn't sure how to start.

"Look, it's okay. I'm sorry I've been such a bitch to you. I didn't have any right to be. I'm sorry I screwed things up between us. I'd like to try and be friends again, but I never know when you're playing games or not."

Grissom started to deny he'd ever played games, but stopped. _Had he? Not intentionally, but maybe it had seemed that way to her._ He'd better check with Catherine before he had that conversation.

"Seuss may have come up with that saying, but it's true. I say what I mean."

She gave him an odd grin. "The problem, Grissom, is no one else ever gets what you mean. You don't let anyone know you well enough," she said softly.

"You didn't do anything wrong. You are my friend. I'm sorry that I've given you reasons to doubt that. Believe it or not, I thought I was doing you a favor by staying away. I never realized it would hurt you."

Another uncomfortable silence followed. "Look, I'll see you in the lab tonight. Okay? Sara, I," he paused, taking a deep breath. "I want to be friends again. I miss what we had. Don't blame yourself, about that."

"It takes two to tango."

"Someone has to lead, though."

She gave him a small smile. "See you tonight, Grissom."

* * *

That evening, Grissom moved gingerly from his office towards the break room, trying to ignore the sympathetic looks the lab techs threw his way. He knew it had nothing to do with the crutches.

He hoped this attempt at an apology would go better than the last two tries. What was the saying? 'Third time's a charm'. Hopefully. The other option was: 'Three strikes, and you're out'.

Walking into the break room, Grissom made a point of not sitting.

"Okay, guys, so far it's an easy shift. Catherine, take Nick and Warrick out to the Tangiers. Looks like a suicide," he said passing them an assignment sheet. He turned to Sara and passed a printout to her. "Sara, you'll be on standby. In the meantime, gather that stuff up and meet me in my office. I could use a hand."

He headed out of the room before anyone could respond.

"Give me a call if there's any trouble," Catherine whispered to Sara before herding the rest of the team out of the break room.

"Sure," Sara answered, pondering what Grissom had planned. This was an odd combination of supplies. She grabbed a cart and then went to raid the storeroom. Entering his office, she found Grissom on the phone. He waved her over to his desk, which he had cleared off and covered with a drop cloth. This was weird.

Instead, she wandered over to his collection of bugs. When he hung up the phone, she gave him a curious look over her shoulder. "So, any of these guys poisonous?"

"No. Why?"

"Oh, just curious. Wouldn't want any accidents happening," she said, flashing a smile at him. He responded by shaking his head. Of course, it would have made it back to her.

"Here." He held a sealed envelope out to her. She raised an eyebrow at him. He mirrored the gesture. "You didn't like what was on the last card I sent. Figured you might like that better," he said, nodding to the envelope.

Sara looked at it nervously. "It's not rigged to blow up, Sara."

When she opened it, she just stood still for a moment. "I can't believe you did this." She gave him a full smile. "Red Creeper – this is your secret recipe. I can't believe you gave me this."

"I'm almost out. I don't feel like doing paperwork and needed something to fill the time. I thought you might like to help me make up a batch."

"Warrick's been after this recipe for years. I know Ecklie offered to buy it from you."

He just smiled at her. "So do you want to work on this?"

"Sweet."

"I take it that's a 'yes'?"

"Yes."

"Come on, let's get started," Grissom said, feeling some of the tension leave his body. Finally, he made a right move. He knew he shouldn't push his luck, but took a chance anyway. "Can we talk, later? Maybe over breakfast? There's a lot I need to tell you. A lot to apologize for."

She nodded slowly before giving him a big smile.

_TBC_


	2. Creeping forward

**Poetic Injustice  
Summary:** A bit of fluff, and bit of romance. A cautionary tale why Grissom should stick to "From Grissom" as his sentiment.  
**A/N:** Updated 2/6/2004 to correct numerous typos and glaring mistakes. Contains general spoilers for the end of season three and Unfriendly Skies. Many thanks to Burked for beta-ing this version.  
**Rated:** PG-13 for mild language.  
**Disclaimer**: I don't own them; I just take the characters out to play every so often.

* * *

**Chapter 2 **

Darting his eyes around uneasily, Greg steeled himself. His hands were shaking slightly. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. This was a dangerous step, but he had to do it. He tried not to think about what would happen to him if this backfired.

Leaning out the door of his lab he tried to see what was going on inside Grissom's office. No luck; Grissom had just walked over to close the office door. He looked over to Archie, shaking his head in defeat.

Archie took the lead, grabbing a printout and walking towards Bobby, who stood just inside the door of the ballistics room. By 'chance', they met in the hallway outside of Grissom's office and 'discussed' the report. The blinds on the door window were closed.

"What's going on? I can't hear a thing," Bobby whispered.

"I don't know. I can't hear either," Archie said.

"Don't you have something to amplify the sound?"

Archie stared at his taller friend in disbelief. "Sure. And would you rather face Sara or Grissom when they found out we spied on them?"

Bobby winced at the thought. Neither alternative would be enjoyable. Pointing his head towards the door, the ballistics expert indicated they should step closer.

Watching the two other lab techs take an obvious step closer to the office, Greg moaned. They were going to get caught. That was so not being subtle. No wonder they never got to go into the field.

Operation Geek Intervention was not getting off to a good start.

The whole lab was buzzing. Sara called her boss an ass and a liar, and he had admitted she was going to kill him. There was a rumor she'd leave. No one wanted that. But before they could fix the problem, they had to find out what the problem was.

It was weird. He'd been gone for three weeks. They only talked for a few minutes when he got back. It was some strange conversation about baseball. Then she was ready to kill him.

Yow! What had Grissom done to rile up Sara like that? Greg knew he wouldn't want the brunette directing that much emotion at him. Well, actually he would love for her to direct that much emotion at him. Just not her temper.

Greg leaned out the door again, his wistful sigh turning into a groan. Those two were now leaning towards Grissom's door. Waving his hands frantically, Greg tried to catch their attention. At this rate, they'd end up crashing into the door.

No way was he getting on Sara's bad side when she was in this kind of mood.

* * *

She gave him a big smile. "Okay, Grissom, where do we start?"

"Lycopodium," he said, shutting his office door and closing the blinds. Sara raised her eyebrows at him.

"Bless you."

Giving her a pointed look, Grissom hobbled to the other side of his desk and pulled out a large container from under it. The jar was filled with a yellowish powder.

"Lycopodium. Spores from the common club moss. The secret to any good dusting powder is the small grain size. This," he lifted the container up, "is about as small as you can get. Plus, the spores have a specific cohesive-buffer effect that gives it great adhesive qualities."

Grissom pointed out a collection of metal oxides in the supplies she had collected earlier. "Those will make Red Creeper red. Which is good, because?"

"Red will show up on both dark and light surfaces," she replied, enjoying the easy banter. This had been missing for too long. They were still along way from being ... whatever ... it was they were heading towards, but this was a start.

"Very good. Now, the rosin acts as a bonding agent, keeping everything together. The iodine compounds react with the double bonds in the unsaturated fatty acids excreted by the skin," Grissom continued, pointing out various substances and explaining what they contributed to the mixture. Sara was surprised by a number of the items.

A loud crash from the hallway caused them to look towards the door. Grissom sighed. "This happens every time I make Red Creeper. People want the secret."

"Okay, this may sound dumb, but don't we have a Trace Lab here? Can't they just analyze the powder?"

"Oh, Ecklie's tried that. It's not what's in it that makes it so good, it's the process of making it."

"Alchemy," she smirked.

"Corn."

"What?"

"Corn."

"That's what I thought you said. Care to explain?"

"Corn. From the Old English, korn, meaning to granulate," he gave her a smile. "I knew you'd ask, so I looked it up." Sara returned the grin.

"So how do we corn?" she asked. "Or is that the correct conjugation?"

"I don't know," he said. So far, this apology seemed to be working. They were joking. He hadn't done anything dumb. Yet. "'I corn, you corn, he corns'? Sounds right to me."

"Well, you'd be more up-to-date on Old English than me," she smirked.

Grissom felt more of the tension leave his body. This was good. Shifting some of the items on his desk, he made room to lean against it. His broken ankle was bothering him.

"First things first. Corning is the last step," he said. "Go ahead and start measuring out the metal oxides. The amounts are listed on the card. They'll need to be ground as fine as you can. Since you're the apprentice, you can do that part," he said, pushing a large mortar and pestle towards her. "It's okay to grind them together, rather than separately."

Grabbing a scale, Sara began measuring out the various amounts of oxides and dumping them into the ceramic container. She noticed he seemed uncomfortable as me measured out his share of the ingredients.

"Grissom, you should have your ankle propped up; it'll feel better if it's elevated."

"Reading my medical files again?"

"No, that was your personnel file," she corrected. "I broke my ankle in college. I remember what it felt like when I was standing for too long."

Knowing he wouldn't win an argument with her, and having no desire to start one, Grissom moved into his chair. Pulling out a drawer, he rested his cast on it. "So, how did you break your ankle?"

Sara blushed, refusing to look at him. This was definitely not a good conversation to be having. "You don't want to go there."

"Why? Wasn't another incident with Ken Fuller, was it?" Grissom joked, remembering their discussion years ago about her initiation into the Mile High Club. His grin disappeared when he saw Sara's blush deepen. "It was?"

She didn't answer immediately. When she finally looked up and saw his inquisitive stare, she shrugged. Why had she brought this up? "We had too much to drink, then we were, uhm, together, in the shower, and he, uhm, slipped, err, you really don't want me to continue, do you?"

"No," he said, knocking some iodine compounds onto the drop cloth. "I think I get the picture."

Well, he thought he did. He'd never actually done it in the shower, let alone on a commercial airplane. Sara obviously was more adventurous than he was in that regard. That was one of the reasons he'd been hesitant to start a relationship with her. In addition to being older, he apparently was also stodgier.

Could he make her happy? It wasn't as if his previous partners had lined up to sing his praises regarding that ability. Not that he was bad at it, but he'd hate to be a disappointment to her that way.

Sara looked up when Grissom let out a quiet sigh. He looked – what? Upset? Shocked? Scared? He was so hard to read sometimes. Did he think she was an exhibitionist or something? Considering he was willing to see a woman who needed a sex license, he wasn't in any position to judge. Still, it would be better to reassure him.

"Grissom, Ken Fuller comes near the top of the 'Dumb Things In Sara's Life' list. He was a bad influence," she said trying to inject some levity into the conversation. "Didn't you ever get involved with someone and regret it later?"

"No, I can't say that I have." _Okay, she wasn't bragging about this guy. That was a good sign, right? _

"Really?" Sara's voice carried a hint of a challenge.

Grissom froze. What had he done? Quickly considering the possibilities, he wondered if she knew about Lady Heather. He hoped not. How could she?

Who was he kidding? She probably did. Sara didn't care for that lifestyle at all and she wouldn't look favorably on his having had an encounter with the woman who ran a fetish club. Still, he wouldn't disparage the woman, even if Sara didn't like her profession.

"Let's just say that there may have been a time or two when, afterwards, I questioned why I became involved in the first place. But, no, regret isn't a term I'd use to describe the encounters."

Sara considered this for a moment before nodding her head. "Good answer."

"Thanks."

They shared another smile.

* * *

"Ouch!"

"Don't be a baby," Greg snapped, handing the ice pack to Archie. "How are we supposed to figure out what's going on if you crash into his office! We need to be subtle. They'll kill us if they figure out what we're doing."

"That's the weird thing. We fell right outside of his office, and Grissom never came to see what we did. You don't think Sara actually did kill him? I mean, even she wouldn't get mad enough to do it in a building full of witnesses," Bobby joked.

"Okay, this isn't working. Obviously they're not fighting, or we'd hear it, even with the door closed. If they were just working on some files, why would they close up the office? We're missing something here, guys. I mean, what else could they be doing?"

Archie and Bobby exchanged glances. They could think of something. Both turned to Greg and gave him a look indicating he was missing the obvious.

"Ewww! That's not even funny, guys!"

Archie and Bobby turned to glance at each other again, before giving Greg another look. The spiky-haired lab tech gave them an incredulous stare as he realized they weren't joking.

"Ewwww! No way. No!"

His friends gave him another look.

"No! Look, even if we have fallen into the Bizarro universe and they would ... do ... that ... together – and I place no confidence in that theory! – they'd never do it at work! In his office! During work hours!"

"Okay, you're probably right about that," Bobby admitted, trying to calm Greg down. The boy had it bad for Sara, but he also had a blind spot when it came to her. "We need to get someone inside that office. What can we use as a decoy?"

Looking around his lab desperately, Greg settled on a plan. Work could wait. He had to prove those two nuts were wrong.

* * *

"Grissom, tell me this stuff is fine enough! My arm's about to fall off!" Sara indicated the powdered mixture she had spent the last hour grinding with the mortal and pestle.

"Okay, it looks good. It'll get ground again after the corning," he said, smiling at her dirty look. "Let's clear this away, and then we'll set up the next stage. It's a lot easier."

The two quickly moved the assorted containers and equipment onto the cart. Grissom was getting ready to describe the next step and the tools necessary when a knock came at the door.

"Come in."

"Hey, Grissom! Sara! I didn't know you were in here!" Greg danced into the room. He came to a dead stop when he saw Grissom's desk. Empty. Covered with a drop cloth. A stained drop cloth. He stared at it.

"Greg, is there a reason you're gracing us with your presence?"

"Huh?"

"Somebody switch your coffee to decaf, Greggo?" Sara laughed at his stunned expression.

"Huh?"

"Greg? Do I need to arrange a urine test for you?"

"Huh? Uh, no. No! The results from the samples from the Kreger case? I, uh, was wondering if you'd look at them? They don't look right."

Grissom took the printout from the lab tech. "It looks like the sample was probably just contaminated. Try again and see what happens."

"Okay."

"You need to go back to your lab to do that," Grissom told him when the lab tech made no move to leave.

"Right."

Laughing, Sara went over, grabbed his elbow and walked him to the door. "Do you need an escort, Greg?"

"No, no, I'm fine. Err, see you later," he finally squeaked out before Grissom closed the door behind him.

"Ewww!"

* * *

Grissom turned to Sara when she started to laugh. "Do you have any idea what that was about?"

"They're probably wondering what kind of accident I arranged for you," she smiled evilly. "You have to admit, us being in here, with the door closed, they'll be wondering what we're doing."

Both turned back towards their experiment and stopped when they noticed the empty desk with the dirty drop cloth. How would that have looked to Greg? "You don't think he thought we were ..."

"Yeah, I think that's what he was thinking."

"Damn."

Sara started laughing again.

* * *

"Greg? Talk to us buddy. You okay?" Bobby turned to Archie, who just shrugged. "Greg!"

The lab tech jumped when his name was yelled in his ear. "His desk was cleared off. It had a stained drop cloth on it."

"What else? Come on, you said it yourself, they wouldn't do it at work," Archie encouraged.

"There was a lab cart of equipment there."

"We know that. We saw Sara take it in there," Bobby drawled.

Greg was lost in his own recollections: how many times Sara had turned him down; how many times Grissom had caught him; the number of glares he had been subjected to. Grissom would kill him now that had figured out their secret.

"Must be some experiment they're working on," Archie concluded finally.

"Yeah," Bobby agreed.

Greg just sat in his chair. His companions just shook their heads as they went back to their respective labs.

"Corning was a technique developed for use in the making of gunpowder. The term 'firearm' comes from the fact that early powder burned, it didn't explode. The first step to making it more effective was called 'incorporation', where the charcoal, saltpeter and sulfur were ground together for hours," Grissom began his explanation.

"Decreasing the grain size, increasing the surface area, which increased the burn rate," Sara replied.

"Yes, but it was more than that. Charcoal is porous. The grinding forced the sulfur and nitrate salts into the charcoal, making a more cohesive mixture."

"Charcoal acts as a fuel, which ignites the sulfur. The burning sulfur creates hydrogen sulfide, which breaks down the nitrate salts, supplying oxygen, which sustains the explosion," she added.

"Exactly. Somebody, though, discovered that if you mix the incorporated powder with water, let it dry and then regrind it, you'd get a far more powerful explosive. The water partially dissolves the saltpeter so it is absorbed by the charcoal. The sulfur is insoluble, but the salts will help draw the molecules into the charcoal."

"Interesting."

"Probably discovered by accident. Someone spent all day grinding their powder, it got wet, and they tried to salvage it," he said. "They got a surprise when they lit it."

"I bet."

Both turned at the sound of laughter coming from the doorway.

Catherine was leaning against the frame. She had long ago figured out exactly how far she could open Grissom's door without triggering his damn singing fish. She had been observing the scene before her for the last few minutes with amusement.

Leave it to these two to repair their personal chemistry with actual chemistry.

"I guess it's safe to leave the two of you alone if you're actually teaching her how to make a better explosive," she joked.

"Actually, he's teaching me how to make Red Creeper," Sara bragged.

Grissom grinned at the look on Catherine's face. "Smart move," she told him. About time he put some of those excess brain cells to good use. "That suicide at the Tangiers? No way. Not unless you can explain how someone can shoot themselves in the back of the head after beating himself up."

"Do you need any help?"

"I think the boys and I can handle this," she said sarcastically. "Anything else come in?"

"It's been pretty quiet actually," Grissom said.

"You may want to check on Greg, Cath. We think he may have jumped to some wrong conclusions," Sara laughed.

Catherine joined in the laughter when she saw a very embarrassed Grissom. It wasn't hard to figure out what Greg must have thought.

"I'll take care of it. Behave yourselves," she called as she closed the door. Catherine was happy to hear the sound of Sara's laughter. Things were looking up.

* * *

"Man, Greg, did somebody piss in your Wheaties this morning? You look terrible," Nick said.

"Sara and Grissom have been locked in his office all night."

"Any screams?" Nick was the only one to laughed at Warrick's joke. Greg actually shuddered. Archie and Bobby looked uneasy.

"His desk was empty. It had a drop cloth on it."

"Greg, what do you think was going on?" All the men turned at Catherine's hard tone.

"Uhm, well, I mean, I."

"I know you can talk, Sanders. Form complete sentences. Now!"

"I don't know. That's what we can't figure out," he indicated the other lab techs, who were trying to put distance between themselves and Catherine. "Why were they locked away? They weren't fighting. What could they be doing that they didn't want anyone to know about?"

Nick and Warrick exchanged glances. They wouldn't? Not at work. No.

"Hmm, maybe it was because he was showing Sara his secret formula for Red Creeper?"

"What!"

"Sorry, Warrick, looks like you've lost your spot as teacher's pet," Catherine gave him a sympathetic smile. He had wanted that recipe for the longest time.

She turned her attention back the lab tech. Poor Greg. She hated to do this to him. She put on her best angry-mother expression and lowered her tone.

"Greg, I'm only going to say this once: Grissom is her supervisor. For them to be in a relationship would be in violation of any number of department regulations. I would be very, very careful of any unfounded rumors you started," she glared at all the men in the room.

"And they would be unfounded. I can tell you for a fact that they aren't involved. Forget what they'll do to you: I'll make the remainder of all your lives miserable if they get any grief over any rumors. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," was chorused throughout the room. Catherine kept her smile to herself. There wasn't anything going on – for now.

Greg relaxed. He knew there was nothing between those two. He'd have noticed if there was.

* * *

Back in Grissom's office, Sara finished combining the ground oxides, spores and assorted other compounds in a large container. Handing her a beaker of water, Grissom moved to set up the funnels. While she mixed the slurry thoroughly, he lined the funnels with several layers of filter paper and set them into large beakers.

"What made you try corning?"

"Honestly?" He stopped at her expression.

"Grissom, honesty is the only policy when you're dealing with me. Tell me it's none of my business, ignore me, tell me to shut the hell up, but don't ever lie to me. Ever. Okay?"

"Fair enough. Sorry," he said sincerely. "As for the Red Creeper, it was an accident. I spilled my water into a batch I was making. It turned out better," he said.

"So, why is it called Red Creeper?"

"Because it's red," he quipped, laughing at the evil look she directed towards him. "'Creep' was a term that always seemed to be used around me. It seemed natural."

She looked at him in surprise but caught the teasing look in his eye. "From all the bugs, I imagine."

"Why else?"

She only gave him an amused look as an answer to his question. Sara poured the red paste into the funnels, where the excess water would drain through the filter paper, leaving behind Red Creeper. "Wouldn't this work faster if we put it in a dehydrator?"

"The end result doesn't seem to be as good," he said, handing her a plastic squeeze bottle. "Use acetone. It'll help the water evaporate faster. Want to take a break? It'll be awhile before this is dry enough to corn."

On the way to the break room, Sara stuck her head into the DNA lab. "Find your brain, Greggo?"

"Ah, Sara! You escaped your imprisonment! Do you need a knight in shining armor to rescue you?" He playfully batted his eyes at her.

"Tell you what. You find a suit of armor and a horse, then ask me again," she laughed. Shaking her head, Sara continued to the break room. Catherine was good. The last thing they needed right now was questions about the nature of their relationship. Despite all their joking tonight, Sara knew they still had a lot of issues to work out.

She found Grissom trying to carry a cup of coffee and manage his crutches at the same time. The look of confusion on his face as he tried to work out a task which required three hands was comical.

Her humor died down when she recalled the accident that had broken his ankle. She couldn't remember the last time she was that frightened. She hoped she'd never feel that way again.

Walking into the room, she reached over and took the coffee from his hands and set it on the table. Looking up, she spurted out a laugh before she could stop herself.

"What?"

"Nothing," Sara quickly looked away from Grissom's face. If she looked at him, she'd break up. _Oh, god, who had done that?_

"Sara?"

"It's nothing, really."

Not believing her, Grissom turned around to see what could have caused her reaction. There in the corner was the plant he sent her. Hanging from one of the fronds was a rubber tarantula. It was suspended from its own little noose. Someone had even X-ed out all of its eyes.

Sitting down in a chair, he tried to catch Sara's eye. She was obviously trying to contain her laughter. Did she think he'd be insulted? One way to settle that. "Looks like someone started their Christmas decorations early."

She flashed him a quick smile, before grabbing herself a cup of coffee and joining him at the table.

"I never thanked you for the plant," she said. "Thanks."

"I'm sorry it was necessary."

Sara didn't respond. This wasn't a conversation she wanted to get into at work.

"Want to split a pizza? My treat."

"Sure, no anchovies," he grinned at her mock glare. He understood why she had changed the topic. They could talk about that later.

After eating their lunch, they split up. There was some paper work Grissom couldn't completely ignore, and the Red Creeper was still too wet to work with. Sara checked up on Nick in the drying room.

"Teacher's pet."

"Be nice to me, Nicky, or you'll never get the formula."

"Like you'll ever share. That stuff is gold."

"I know," she said with a smug look. "What have you guys got?"

"Not much, yet. We've sent some stuff to Trace, but they're backed up for some reason tonight," Nick said. He gave Sara a smile. "You aren't planning on leaving us, are you Sar? 'Cause we start getting nervous whenever plants come for you."

"Nervous? I thought you'd be happy," she gave his shoulder a pat. "You'll never make teacher's pet while I'm here."

"Really?" Nick said with a lecherous grin.

"I don't believe you! You are so dead, Stokes!"

"If I send you a plant, will you forgive me?"

"No!" Sara yelled as she left the lab. She'd go help Trace with their backup.

Nick laughed as she stalked out of the room. _Yeah, things were getting back to normal._

_

* * *

_

"Hey, Grissom. Time to get corny?"

"Sara, that has to be one of the dumbest jokes you've ever come up with."

"Thanks. I try."

"And to answer your question, yes it is. I was waiting for you to get back before starting," he smiled. "I didn't want you to miss out."

"You didn't want to do the grinding yourself, you mean."

"That too," he smiled. "Go ahead and start breaking down the powder. Don't worry about getting it too fine for now." He got up and moved to a box on one of his shelves. After a few minutes of looking around, he pulled out a beat-up coffee grinder.

"I can't believe you! I spent an hour grinding that stuff by hand!"

"A necessary step, I'm afraid. This won't break down the oxides to a fine enough grain," he said, tossing the machine to her. "But it'll work for the last stage. You just need to break up the worse of it by hand first."

Within minutes, they finished the last stages of the grinding and loaded up several jars with the powder. Grissom gave Sara the largest jar. "For your private collection."

"Thanks!"

"Try not to make the others too jealous."

She gave him a dirty look, but kept a small smile.

Grissom tried to return it, but failed. The time for playful banter was about to end.

"Look, Sara, shift'll be over in a little bit. I need to finish this report for Mobley before I leave, though. Would you like to come over to my place for breakfast? Or meet somewhere?"

She considered this. A diner would be more neutral, but it also wouldn't be as private. Which would be more comfortable?

"I, I don't care, Grissom. Do you have a preference?"

"I'd be able to put my feet up, literally, at my place," he pointed to his cast. "But if that makes you uncomfortable, though ..."

"No, that'll be good. Just let me know when to show up."

"It'll take me about a half-hour to finish this, so how about an hour after shift ends?"

"Okay."

Sara walked towards the locker room slowly. Tonight had been good, but they had avoided any discussion about their problems. This was going to be a long morning.

* * *

Breakfast was a very quiet affair. Besides polite questions about what she'd prefer, Grissom remained silent while he quickly fixed their meal. They ate in silence as well.

Sara could tell he was nervous, but this was ridiculous. He'd invited her over so they could discuss their current situation. That would require actually talking. Time to break the ice.

"Grissom, the surgery? How well did it work?"

"Pretty well, considering the extent of the growth. I regained most of my hearing, but there's some loss," he said. "Not much worse than what's normal for a man my age, actually," he added quickly when he saw her worried expression. "Why?"

"In the stairwell, that night, you didn't react. We heard the noise upstairs, heard the guy running down the stairs, but you didn't. I was worried," she finally answered.

_How to respond to that? Honesty, remember? _

"I think the fact I was distracted played a bigger part in that than my hearing," he said.

"Why were you distracted?" Sara at first thought he wasn't going to answer her question, but he finally looked at her with a piercing glare.

"You weren't talking to me. I didn't know how to fix the problem. Then, you and that detective. You were flirting," he shrugged. What was her expression settling on?

"No way! Don't even try that!"

"What?"

"You can't have it both ways. You have no right to be jealous. You turned me down, remember?"

This wasn't going well. He hadn't meant to make her upset. He wanted to apologize. "Well, we're here now," he tried.

She looked up at him in shock and started shaking her head. "No. I don't know what ... this ... is, but this isn't a date," she said firmly. _Did he think this was a date? Did he want a date?_

"How about two friends trying to get reacquainted?" Grissom suggested.

"Okay, that sounds good," she said. Neither talked for a while. "Would you prefer if I left?" Sara eventually asked when she saw how uncomfortable Grissom looked.

He snapped his head up. "No. I'm sorry," he paused. "I'm not much of a talker."

"I'd never noticed." Sara maintained eye contact, even though she saw his painful expression.

"Grissom, I've known you for years. I know you're not much of a talker. Neither am I. That's probably how we ended up in this mess," she said softly. Perhaps if she started, it'd be easier for him.

"I'm sorry. I never meant to put you on the spot by asking you out. If I had any idea how much that would bother you, I'd never would have said a thing," she hesitated. "This is embarrassing for me. I can't believe how badly I misread the situation. I actually thought you were ... well, I'm sorry."

Grissom watched her quietly. _She thought he wasn't interested? Well, when was the last time he expressed an interest? But if she was interested in him, what was the deal with that paramedic? Well, it wasn't as if she was going to wait forever. Sara warned him about that after asking him out. _

_Maybe she had gotten tired of waiting for him to make a move. If things hadn't gone bad with Hank, would she be here now? Was he a backup? Or had Hank been a diversion? He must have been a diversion. What could she have seen in that guy? How long would she wait before getting another diversion? How would he react then? Why was she getting angry? How long had he been staring at her? _

Shaking his head, Grissom pursed his lips, his tongue protruding silently, trying to figure out how to respond. "Oh." _Damn_.

"Look, I won't bring it up again, okay? It's in the past, it's over, and I'm sorry. What do I need to do for us to be friends again?" Sara got up from the table and walked to a window. She didn't want him to see the tears forming.

"I told you, we are friends. I'm sorry I made you think otherwise," Grissom said. He could tell she was tense. Why wouldn't she face him? "Sara? Asking me out? That didn't upset me. And you didn't misread anything."

"Really?"

"Yes. But, I'm not sure about us, that way. I," he paused when she turned. Her expression was sad. He hated when he did that to her. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Why do you think that'd hurt me?"

"Past history? I'm not good in relationships. They never end well. I don't want to be the one who hurts you."

"Are you worried about me getting hurt? 'Cause I can take care of myself. I'm a big girl. I can make decisions for myself," she said softly as she walked towards him. "Or are you worried about yourself?"

He nodded softly. He'd been hurt before, that's true. 'Third-degree burns' was the expression Catherine had used. Sara knew him well enough to recognize the truth.

"I guess both."

"You've thought about this? All the things that could go wrong? Did you make a list? I'd like to hear it."

Grissom regarded her carefully. What was going on?

"I haven't made a list," he finally said. Her expression was unwavering.

"I'm older; I'm not good in relationships – any aspect of them; I'm your supervisor, which adds another layer of complications," he said, wondering how best to respond to her. _Honesty, remember?_ "You scare me."

That got a reaction. "Why?"

"Because as much as I've been hurt in the past, you could do a lot worse. I'd fall too far for you. I don't want to think about what it be like once you left."

"So, you've thought through all the things that could go wrong? Have you ever thought about all the things that could go right? How good it could be? Because I can tell you, I've thought through both, and the good outweighs the bad."

He looked at the floor, trying to process all that she had said. _Could they make something work? It wouldn't be easy, but, hell, what they had now sure wasn't easy. How good could it get? _

"I don't know, Sara, I want," he hesitated, unsure of himself. If they tried and failed, he'd be miserable. But if he didn't try, she'd move on. How miserable would he be if she found happiness with someone else?

"Tell me, Grissom, what is it that you want."

He gave her a gentle smile. "I guess I want to know if it's too late."

She returned the smile. "I don't know. We're still not straight. But I guess we'll just have to take it one step at a time and see what happens."

* * *

_Go Read "Beware of Geeks Bearing Presents" to see what happens next._


End file.
